


Dipper and Mabel's Guide to Becoming a Traveling Paranormal-Hunter

by dddippinsauce



Series: Protectionverse [2]
Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: A Story In Five Parts, Dipper Loves Bigfoot, Gen, Magical Tattoos, Witch Mabel Pines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-08-12 10:39:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7931476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dddippinsauce/pseuds/dddippinsauce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five steps to spend the summer preparing to be an RV-traveling supernatural ball-buster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dipper and Mabel's Guide to Becoming a Traveling Paranormal-Hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to Protection. This fic is set in the Protectionverse series, which is overall a pinecest series, but this fic itself doesn't contain any pinecest (unless you, like, really squint and wish for it). (Also, as a side note in the unlikely case anyone notices – what happened to Mabel’s cat Fritters from Protection? I kind of didn’t think through the whole Mabel-will-be-living-nomadically thing re: having a pet cat. So I’ve decided Fritters is technically her roommate’s cat who loved Mabel just as much. So no worries. Fritters is safe at home still. There, now my conscience is clean.)

**I.**

Mabel will admit, with the aid of hindsight, that calling ahead would have been much wiser.

The problem is that Mabel doesn’t always think in terms of what’s wise. She thinks in terms of what’s going to pack the most punch, thrill the most emotions, make the best memories. Which is fine. Until she ends up sitting in her car in the parking lot of her brother’s apartment building for three hours, watching the mid-May sun slowly creep lower and lower in the sky.

Yeah, calling Dipper first probably would have been better.

In her mind, the day went: fill the car with everything she owns, drive up to Dipper’s apartment, surprise him, tell him what’s up, then unload the car together and get cracking on her plan. Now it’s going to be more like: Dipper comes home eventually, sees her car packed to the brim, sees her sitting inside with her chipped glittery sky-blue nail polish and bored frown, and womp-womp, no big surprise hugs, just straight into Mabel-what-are-you-doing-we-should-have-talked-about-this-first.

Not the best start to this new chapter.

She’s been sitting sideways in the driver’s seat, her feet resting on her backpack on the passenger seat. Her eyes have been closed for a while now. So she hears the knock on the passenger window, and she yelps, eyes flying open.

Oh, shit-diddly-damn. Dipper’s home. And he looks decidedly unimpressed.

Mabel crawls over, rolling down the ancient hand-crank window. “Oh hey, Dipper. Surprise?”

“What’s all this in your car?”

Mabel bites her lip and smiles in what she hopes is an endearing way. “Oh, just, y'know, everythingthatIownbasically.”

He sighs. “Mabes–”

“No, no, hang on hang on hang on.” Mabel scrambles out the driver’s side and scurries around the hood of the car, then throws her arms around Dipper. “Big fat awkward sibling hug! Hello! I love you! I missed you! I decided to drop out of school after all and brought all my stuff up here so we can go travel like we talked about because you mostly said yes! Surprise!”

Dipper pulls back from the hug. Mabel’s hands rest on his shoulders, and she watches him, her brow furrowed. He looks upset, and he needs a shave, and her heart is brimming with fear that he’s going to say no after all, say no to this, to her, to this opportunity she’s been trying so, so hard to make happen for them. Her fingers press a little harder.

“I can’t believe you actually dropped out,” he finally says.

Mabel blinks. “Well, yeah. I said I was going to. Life-going-in-a-new-direction and all that. Dipper, we talked about this.”

“Yeah, I know. I guess…” He scratches the back of his neck, mouth twisted. “I guess I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

“Is that why you’re upset?”

He shrugs. “I mean, mostly, yeah. Also kind of annoyed you brought everything you own up here without even texting me first, but yeah, mostly the school thing.”

“Ah, well, yeah, that second part was supposed to go differently.” Mabel drops her hands from his shoulders and grins sheepishly. “You were supposed to be home, for one.”

“Which you can’t predict if you don’t tell me you’re coming.”

“Party pooper.”

Dipper finally smiles, shaking his head. “Listen, come up and I’ll make dinner and we can talk about this.” Mabel hesitates, and he adds, “I have cartoon-shaped mac ‘n’ cheese.”

She laughs and throws up finger guns. “Now you’re talking my language, brobro.”

His apartment is the same as always. Clean, more or less, but a bit musty, smelling of not-vacuuming and unopened windows. And a small stack of empty pizza boxes on the edge of the coffee table. Mabel resists the urge to immediately take them out the dumpster, but she does open a window so the evening air flows in.

Dipper makes macaroni and cheese for them in the yellow light of the kitchen, and Mabel sits on the counter, tapping her heels against the lower cupboards. He tells her about his writing, and he’s nice enough to wait until he’s dished up the macaroni to prod her again about college.

“I told you two months ago when I came up here that I was thinking about dropping out,” she says.

“Yeah, thinking. I didn’t know you were actually gonna do it.”

Mabel scoops an extra-large spoonful of malformed cartoon character noodles. “So you didn’t think I was being serious about us being traveling ghostbusters.”

“No, I knew you were serious.” Dipper smiles at her, that weird crooked smile when he thinks she’s being ridiculous but also thinks it’s sweet. “I just– I mean, you have ideas all the time, Mabes. How was I supposed to know you were going to follow through on this one?”

“Because I was like ten thousand percent serious. I mean it, Dipper. I really think this could be the best thing for us.”

He’s staring at his dinner now. “You know the supernatural almost got both of us killed. More than once.”

“And how many more people might end up there if someone doesn’t help them?” She stretches out one leg and prods his shin with her toes. “Dipper. I know Gravity Falls has more than its share of weirdness, but there’s still that kind of junk all over the place. There’s hauntings and sasquatches, like, everywhere, there’s wendigos around the Great Lakes, and the freakiest monster is supposed to be living under a bridge in Louisville. Even Florida isn’t safe.” She shudders. “I don’t want to talk about Key West.”

Dipper’s staring at her, now. “You looked into this.”

“Well duh, Dipper! I’ve been trying to plan things out as best I can. I figure I can stay here with you while we save up some money, then we can find a used RV to travel in. I’m thinking class B so we don’t have to always go to campsites to park it. I know you have savings, you cheapskate. I can get a job – I know this is a small town but there’s always summer jobs. Plus I’m going to sell most of the stuff in my car. Do you know how fast people on the internet eat up altered clothes like mine?”

He’s still staring at her, with no move to respond. Mabel slumps in her seat a little and pokes at her mac 'n’ cheese. “Besides,” she says, more quietly. “I just wanna stay with you, y'know? Travel together. Be the mystery twins. Take care of each other.”

“Because what you want to do with your life is spend it with me.” She looks up at him. He’s smiling, but his eyes look sad. “That’s what you told me last time you were here.”

“Yeah, well, I meant it.”

“I do, too. I mean, I feel the same.” Dipper sighs. “But– are you really okay with dropping out? I know you really had your heart set on being a teacher.”

Mabel points her spoon at him. “Is that all you’re worried about? Because you keep bringing it up. Dips, I can always go back to school if I want to. But right now? I want to be with you, and I think this is a cool way to spend our time.” She digs back into her macaroni. “Besides, it’d probably be cathartic for us to use our knowledge of the supernatural for good instead of letting it junk up our brains, blah blah blah.”

“You make a good argument.”

“Damn straight, sailor. Now let’s finish this fine dining of ours, and then you can help me haul all my stuff up from the car. Deal?”

He grins. It finally looks at home on his face. “Deal.”

 

**II.**

For the first couple weeks after Mabel moves in, things are simple and warm. She’s on the job hunt and setting up her online stuff to sell her belongings, but she’s not hired anywhere yet, so they have time. She ends up cleaning Dipper’s entire apartment – their apartment, now, he supposes – from top to bottom until it’s actually clean instead of his standard state of tidy but kind of weird-smelling. She always makes sure the fridge is decently stocked and cooks them reasonably healthy meals, except when they have boxed mac 'n’ cheese instead. And Dipper is surprised, with a warm feeling blooming in his chest, when he wakes up one morning to see that she’s collected a bunch of bright-colored bedsheets from the thrift store and sewn them into curtains for every window in the place. When he feels that creeping tension crawling down his back, she seems to see it in his eyes, and she pulls the curtains closed so he doesn’t have to look at the trees.

They spend so much time just _being_. Dipper had his last deadline before she moved in; he has one more in mid-June, but then he’s obligation-free. He’s told his agent he’s taking a sabbatical. So when he’s not writing and Mabel’s not fiddling with the listings on her shop, they just… spend time. They play gin rummy (at which she kicks his ass) or chess (at which he kicks her ass) or go on hikes (down by the river, not up into the forest), or they simply lie on the couch and watch cartoons. She lies propped against one arm, he propped against the other, their legs tangled together in the middle.

She tells him she likes how much he smiles these days. He likes her toothbrush next to his in the bathroom.

She’s right. It’s good, spending their lives together.

He’s just out of the shower one afternoon when he hears her hollering “Dipper!" from the kitchen.

"Yeah, Mabes?”

“Remember the woo-woo lady?”

“Of course I do. I still have to drink that shit tea sometimes.”

“She’s hiring.”

Dipper tugs on his shorts, slings his towel around his neck, and takes the four steps from the bathroom to the kitchen doorway. “Come again?”

Mabel looks up, pointing at her laptop. “Her shop. She’s hiring an assistant shopkeeper.”

Dipper squints, then scrunches his nose. “The pay’s probably lousy,” he says before going back to the bathroom.

“It’s solid,” Mabel calls after him. “And the hours are enough. It’d only be like a fifteen minute drive if I take the highway, so I won’t rack up too much in gas, either. I’m gonna apply.”

Dipper turns, sighs, and comes back, leaning against the door frame. “Mabel, do you really want to work in some little magic shop?” The memory of the woman who works there, with her thick glasses and her way of staring at him like she was staring through him, makes him uneasy. Not bad-uneasy. She’s not dangerous. Just… unsettling.

“Yes.” Mabel meets his gaze, and hers is steely and serious, way too serious for her sweet face. “Dipper, think about it. We’re going to start living as– as supernatural ball-busters. Don’t you think it’s good to get as much in our arsenal as we can? You…” She looks back down at her laptop. The magic shop’s website glows softly against her profile. “You still know way more about this stuff than I do, really. I think it’d be good for me to work there and learn more. She seems to know about the real stuff. I dunno, I think I could learn a lot from her. And the pay and hours are what I need for us to save up enough.”

Dipper sighs. “It’s not like I’m telling you not to.”

“You just don’t like that lady 'cause she spooked you out.”

Damnit. She sees through him every fucking time, as long as she takes the time to actually look. Which she’s doing. Pointedly. “She spooked you out, too.”

“Yeah, well all the more reason! She was spooky 'cause she seemed to know too much! And nobody else really knows too much, except you and me and our grunkles.”

“Great-Uncle Ford, mostly. Grunkle Stan has helped him fight off like twenty different cryptids–”

“And punched zombies, and averted the apocalypse–”

“– right, exactly, and he still kind of waves it all off.” Dipper leans in, peering at the website. He sighs again. “You know I need you – whether or not you know as much about ghosts and, I dunno, Bigfoot as I do. But if you want to apply, then do it. You need a job somewhere. May as well be there.”

“That’s what I’m saying.” Mabel pauses, then waggles her eyebrows. “Besides, nobody knows as much about Bigfoot as you do, Mr. I Have Seven Notebooks Just for Sasquatch Notes.”

“Oh my god, Mabel, that was in tenth grade, let it go.”

–

Mabel gets the job, to her delight. On her first day she spends an hour debating (with herself, but while talking to Dipper) whether she should wear her normal clothes or style herself in some kind of weird witchy fashion. She decides on her normal clothes, winking as she says that she’s “ _charming_ enough.” Dipper rolls his eyes.

She’s at the woo-woo lady’s shop five days a week from eleven in the morning to six in the evening. Dipper finds himself already missing her constant presence. Maybe being cooped up in a tiny RV together won’t be so bad. He takes to browsing the internet for listings, trying to figure out the sort of thing they’ll need once they have the money to actually get it.

Dipper hasn’t been back to the shop since that time he and Mabel went looking for advice and ended up with a tisane. But he imagines her there, arranging packs of incense and tarot cards, sorting the crystal collection, dusting the enormous jars of herbs and roots and other strange things that line the wall behind the counter.

She seems happy there. Dipper feels a little sorry she’ll have to leave it when they decide to take off.

He’s sitting on the couch, flipping through one of his old sasquatch notebooks (because it can’t hurt to brush up on his old research) when he hears someone thumping up the stairs out in the stairwell. Unmistakably his sister, in an excited state.

“Guess what!” Mabel sing-songs as she bangs through the apartment door.

“Please tell me you didn’t bring home another frog,” Dipper says, not looking up from his notebook.

Mabel flaps her hand. “Psh, no.” She slings her bag off her shoulder and sits on the floor, grinning up across the coffee table at Dipper. “Witch Mama started teaching me how to read tarot cards!”

Dipper takes his pen out of his mouth. “Why do you always call her 'Witch Mama’?” Doesn’t that lady have a name?“

"Yeah, but I like Witch Mama.”

“So what, is she a witch?”

“Nah, just a fortune-teller and an herbalist.” Mabel bites her lip and grins, looking up to the ceiling. “But she aaaalso said I could be a witch.”

Dipper drops his pen. His eyebrows shoot up. “What? Seriously?”

“Yes!” Mabel squeals and wiggles. “She said I have a 'natural aptitude.’ So she’s gonna teach me more stuff. See, Dip? I won’t be totally useless in our new adventure life.”

He smiles at her. “I never said you’d be useless.”

“No, but I kind of thought it, sometimes. But this is awesome! I can learn all sorts of stuff to help us. What do you think?”

Dipper scratches the back of his head. “Well, the only witch I’ve ever known was that hand-witch. And you’re a lot cooler than her, so I’m guessing you’ll be a pretty cool witch? I dunno, Mabel. For all I know about the supernatural, I don’t actually know much about… witchcraft?”

She grins, leaning her chin in her hand. “It’s okay. Now I can show you.”

A funny sort of feeling turns itself around in Dipper’s stomach. It’s not a bad feeling. “We’re really gonna do this, aren’t we?” he asks.

Mabel stares up at him, her grin melting into a soft smile. Her eyes are shining. “Yeah, broseph. We really are.”

And Dipper smiles wider.

 

**III.**

Learning magic proves to be kind of bizarre and kind of, in some way, really natural and familiar-feeling. When Witch Mama tells Mabel to go make a batch of spell candles, Mabel scrunches up her nose and says, “But I’m not a witch. Not yet.”

Witch Mama looks at her with one raised eyebrow. “And how will you learn to be a witch without doing spells?”

“I dunno. I thought there’d be books or something.”

“There are plenty of books, and they’re important, too. But do the work and you’ll learn how to do the work.”

Magic, Mabel learns, through both instruction and experimentation, can be as complex as a table covered in knick-knacks with candles and incense and wine and burning herbs and calling on spirits to raise up a bunch of energy, or as simple as muttering a quick little phrase under her breath while she ties three knots into a piece of cord and focuses really, really hard on what she wants to make happen. She much, much prefers things on the latter end of the spectrum.

After a few weeks, she finds herself attempting bits of magic even in her downtime. She buys a little potted basil plant and keeps it in the sunny living room window. It’s nice for cooking, but she also whispers things to it when she sets it in its soil, asking it to please help bring a nice flow of money to her and Dipper so they can save enough to make her plan happen. She whispers to it every day, takes good care of it, gives it lots of attention. Dipper gets an unexpected check that adds nicely to their savings, and an enthusiastic girl from Boston buys out the rest of Mabel’s stock of her clothes she’s selling, and Mabel wonders.

When she makes dinner, she stirs the pot of spaghetti sauce clockwise to bring in happiness and good fortune, singing a little rhyme in her head. Dipper seems – and she feels herself – continuously optimistic about their endeavors, and Mabel wonders.

One night in the beginning of July, when the air is hot and and unrelenting and Dipper fell asleep on the couch, he wakes up at three in the morning, screaming and not recognizing Mabel. She grips his shoulders until he settles, shaking, and comes back to himself, unable to remember what was terrifying him. It’s not the first time. Mabel kisses his forehead and strokes his hair, and she holds his hand and walks with him through the apartment. He’s trembling, breathing shallow, but the moment they cross into the bedroom, he stills. Calmness flows into him, and he curls up in bed with Mabel, arms around each other, and he sleeps peacefully.

Mabel looks at the doorway, remembering the time she came up early in the spring when his demons were hunting him down hard. She remembers how she drew an imaginary line around the door frame, promising him nothing could get in and get at him except her. Promising him protection. And she wonders.

She comes up with plans for their journeys. There are ways she can help them, protections she can place on the RV they’ll eventually get, charms she can make for them. But she thinks of being in the woods in the dark with monsters full of teeth all around them, and she feels a need for something more. Something deeper.

Mabel does some research, and she does some sketching, and then she shows Dipper her designs and suggests, carefully, because he’s a square and hates pain and very well might not go for it, that maybe they should get protective sigils as tattoos so when they’re off hunting down dangerous things, they carry a spell on their skin to help keep them safe. To her surprise, he agrees. But maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. He knows the power of symbols.

They design a sigil they’ll both get. Matching ones on both of their chests, they decide. It means a lot of things, but most of all it means that they are Pines, and the Pines family is strong. They choose other runes and symbols, things to protect them, give them insight and strength, and more. They book an appointment, go over the designs with the tattoo artist. And on the day they walk into the shop, Mabel looks up at Dipper and asks, “Are you still sure about this, Dippingsauce? You’re not the biggest fan of sustained pain.”

He takes her hand and squeezes it. “I’ve had worse. And this is right.”

They both get their matching sigil on their breastbones. It hurts like a bitch, but Mabel grits her teeth and rides it out. That’s the hardest part. The other designs still hurt, but they’re elsewhere, not right over the bone. But there’s one sigil she designed that she didn’t tell Dipper about, and she feels the needle pricking it into the skin of her upper ribs, near her heart, and she blinks hard.

Their tattoo artists tell both of them that they’re champs, sitting like rocks when these are their first tattoos, some of them in sensitive places. Dipper and Mabel just look at each other, not needing to say anything.

Prick, prick, prick. The needle marks the skin on Mabel’s ribs with the sigil representing the intention she keeps close to her heart every moment of every day. _Dipper is safe_.

 

**IV.**

Mabel finishes selling off all her clothes and hand-made floral headbands, and then she sells her car. It leaves them with finally enough to hunt down the RV they need.

Dipper’s been keeping an eye out for one almost since Mabel first moved in. There’s a place a half-hour’s drive away that sells used RVs, which is their best bet considering their budget. So on a Monday afternoon (one of Mabel’s days off from the witchy shop), they drive out together in Dipper’s cramped little car.

It’s a sunny day at the end of July. Mabel’s singing along to the radio, poking her hand out the window to skate her fingers along the wind. Her long hair is braided, her cherry-red sunglasses are perched on her nose, her sweatshirt is slipping off her shoulder since she cuts the necks of almost every shirt she owns into a giant boatneck. Dipper keeps glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. A smile pulls at his mouth. His sister is happy, and he has a well-organized list of things they’re looking for in his pocket, and everything so far this summer has been rolling along just how they need it. Maybe Mabel was right – maybe they really are meant to do this.

The man who runs the used vehicle lot is named Tadrick, which Mabel blessedly doesn’t comment on. He shakes Dipper’s hand with a toothy smile. “I remember you from the phone. Right back here, young man.” He leads them past the cars with their prices scrawled on the windshields in chalk marker, over to the section devoted to campers and RVs. “We’ve got a solid collection of those class B’s you were looking for. Most of 'em have updated kitchen equipment, too.”

“We’ve got a pretty specific price range,” Dipper says, pulling out his list. “I’ve got some things I’m looking for as far as mileage goes, too.”

Tadrick shows Dipper a couple models, neither of which are quite what they’re looking for. Then Dipper realizes Mabel’s wandered off. He sighs. Typical. It’s not like she’s going to do any harm, though, so he stays focused on Tadrick explaining the volume of the waste tank on the current option.

Then from two rows over, a clear voice calls, “Dipper, I _found_ it!”

Tadrick stares at Dipper. “Should we– go look?”

“Believe me, it’ll be easier if we just do.”

They find Mabel leaning against a compact Winnebago with seriously outdated stripes painted along its side. She’s grinning a huge grin. “It’s perfect,” she says.

“This one’s a bit old,” Todrick says. “In great shape, you know, don’t mistake me. And it’s got new tires and all, everything runs well. Just–”

“Charming as all heck?” Mabel pokes the side of the RV where the “Warrior” logo is printed in fat letters. “Look how cute.”

Dipper glances over it, looks in the window at the cab. The seats are sun-faded, but they look clean and intact. “I mean, it doesn’t look bad. Tadrick, can I get a look at–”

“OHHHHH MY GOD.”

“When did she go inside?”

“Just now, I guess.” Dipper’s got a smile creeping in despite himself, and he steps up in through the open side door.

Mabel’s at the top of the couple steps leading in. There’s just enough room for her between the couch area and the table area. “Oh my god,” she says again, more softly, but just as excitedly. “Dipper. Dipper Dipper look at this little loft.” There’s a bunk above the cab, a little bed built into the overhang. It has windows on all three sides and a soft mattress pad. “Can you imagine,” she says, “stringing fairy lights over the windows, and piling it up with pillows, and– oh my _god_ , Dip!’

She’s shining, her cheeks glowing, and there’s so much genuine joy in her eyes that Dipper can’t say no. He just can’t. And besides, this was all Mabel’s idea, her idea, her plan. She gave up school, sold almost everything she owns, uprooted her life to make this happen for them. She’s been not just working to save up money, but studying too, learning from Witch Mama, about magic and the supernatural so she has her own angle to bring. She’s done so much, given up so much, made so many changes for him. For them.

He puts a hand on her back and smiles at her. "Let’s at least look at the bathroom. I need to make sure I can actually fit my ass down on the toilet without my legs hanging out into the main room.”

“Can we call it the Warrior?” Mabel’s beaming. “Our mighty Warrior! Valiant steed!”

“Of course we can, Mabes. Whatever you want.”

 

**V.**

How did the summer slip by so quickly? It feels like only a few weeks since Mabel filled up her car and drove up to their place – but it was just Dipper’s place, then. Even in three months, it’s ended up feeling like hers, too.

She’s standing in the bedroom. It doesn’t look much like a bedroom now. Dipper put some of his furniture in storage and got rid of the rest, but one way or the other, the bed and the desk and the dresser are all gone, the ugly green lamp, the bookshelf. Not to mention the piles of clothes, stacks of books and notebooks, the crumb-riddled former sandwich plates. Whatever they don’t need is sold or packed away or given to the thrift store. Whatever they do need has already found its new home in the Warrior, which waits for them down in the parking lot.

It’s almost three weeks yet 'til their birthday, but their summer in the little apartment is over.

The bedroom is empty and still. The angle of the sunlight catches dust motes. Mabel sighs, feeling more than hearing the echo of her breath in the corners of the room. It still feels so safe in here, these days. The doorway still feels like a barrier.

Dipper appears, leaning against the door frame. “Hey.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? You seem less pumped up, now.”

She laughs a little. “It’s just all really hitting me, you know?” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her denim shorts. “I’m still super jazzed. But also kind of sad to be leaving the apartment behind. And Witch Mama’s shop.” Even the trees around the building, she thinks. They’re friendly, when they aren’t leering as though their trunks were full of eyes. A lot of bad things have happened here, but a lot of good things, too. It’s bittersweet to leave it.

It’s a feeling she knows well.

Dipper seems to read it all in her eyes. He holds out his arms, and Mabel goes to him and lets him fold her in against his chest. “We’ll sleep on the floor tonight,” he says, “and leave first thing tomorrow morning. You can make us coffee and pick the music and everything.”

“Are you impressed with how many cute shirts I still managed to fit in the Warrior?”

“Mabel, I’m always impressed with you when it comes to your shirts.”

She sighs, he squeezes his arms around her, and they step apart. “Y'know, we still have one more thing to do before we go,” she says.

“Ah, right. Soos said tonight would be the soonest we’d be able to.” Dipper gestures towards her. “Do you wanna, or?…”

“Nah.” Mabel smiles. “You do it. You know you want to.”

“But this whole thing was your idea.”

“Yeah, but you’re Dipper.” She kicks out her foot, nudging his toes with hers. “Go on.”

Dipper smiles, a little tightness around his eyes, and takes out his phone. He dials, takes a deep breath, and holds the phone to his ear. Mabel steps in close again so she can try to listen.

“Hello?”

She can just hear the deep grumbling voice, and it makes her heart swell. God, she misses that voice so much every time he goes away.

“Hey, Grunkle Stan!”

“Hey, how the hell are ya, kid?”

“I say hi,” Mabel whispers.

Dipper smiles at her. “I’m good, I’m good. Mabel says hi– Mabes, he says 'hi pumpkin.’”

She grins.

“Is Great-Uncle Ford with you?” Muttery grumbly Grunkle Stan voice. “No, you don’t have to put him on, but can you have him come to the phone with you? Mabel and I have something we want to tell you.”

“Who got knocked up?” That sentence comes through loud and clear, and Mabel slaps her hands over her mouth to stifle a guffaw.

Dipper blushes, tipping back his head. “Nobody, Grunkle Stan, jeez! Is Ford there or not? … Okay. Hi, Ford.” Dipper looks at Mabel and mouths _Ford is there_.

_I know, dummy,_ she mouths back.

He sticks his tongue out at her, apparently deciding to pass on a sarcastic remark. “So Mabel and I have been working on something all summer, and we’re kind of putting it in motion tomorrow. We haven’t really told anyone too much yet, and we wanted you guys to know first.”

Mabel realizes her hands are around Dipper’s upper arm. She’s almost holding her breath.

Dipper smiles and leans down to press a kiss on Mabel’s forehead. Their eyes meet, and she sees her own feelings mirrored in his gaze: excitement, nervousness, hopefulness. For their adventure, and for getting their grunkles’ blessing. Here in the now-empty bedroom, where the idea first set seed in Mabel’s mind as she held Dipper in her arms; where she first spoke it aloud to him as she curled against his back; where she first laid down protection over him, bringing into the world her promise to always, always, always keep him safe, from monsters and from himself. It’s a good place to finally share their plans with the men who started them on this road, for better or worse, to begin with.

“It seems,” Dipper says, “that Mabel had the perfect idea.”


End file.
